


Every Second, Dripping off my Fingertips

by breatheforeverypart



Series: To the Victor Goes the Trauma [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, District 13, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Finnick Odair Lives, Finnick tries to help, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unreliable Narration, phobia of water, references to blood and gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24610246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breatheforeverypart/pseuds/breatheforeverypart
Summary: This story takes place after Johanna is extracted from Capitol imprisonment.  In my version of events, Annie is killed just before the rebels are able to rescue Johanna, Peeta and Enobaria.  In a rare moment of lucidity, Finnick attempts to assist Johanna.  She is practically feral and cannot be calmed or oriented to the present.  This story follows his attempts to help his fellow Victor.
Relationships: Annie Cresta & Mags & Finnick Odair, Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair
Series: To the Victor Goes the Trauma [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776307
Kudos: 22





	Every Second, Dripping off my Fingertips

***

“Miss Mason! Honestly.” A woman shrieked, exasperated. The bedside table, loaded with instruments flew through the air, narrowing missing the nurse’s head. An inch to the left and Finnick would be sporting a new bruise. 

Feral. Johanna was consumed with a ferocity Finnick had only glimpsed during the Games. Her eyes narrowed in dim concentration, not unlike a muttation. The shadow of a woman before him snarled, the guttural noises of a cornered animal erupting from her throat. 

Finnick suppressed a shudder. Catching her attention, he began to charm the poor nurse brandishing a soapy sponge like a shield. “You’ve done all you can.” He drawled and forced his face into a seductive grin he usually reserved for Capitol cliental. 

“I’ll take it from here.” He tried to wink, but felt his eye twitch unappealingly. The bright yellow bracelet burned on his wrist. Finnick felt the nurse stare, assessing his worth from his threadbare hospital gown to his District 13 stamped jewelry that labeled him as insane. 

The woman, her badge read ‘Gem’ thrust the dripping brick into his hands and stomped out of the isolated room. Finnick blinked in shock, he could not quite believe that Gem trusted him to be left unsupervised. 

Suddenly a strip of fabric tightened around his neck, constricting his airway along with any thoughts not related to survival. Damn. His reflexes had lapsed, while Johanna’s had improved. An unhealthy dose of terror tends to flood the system with adrenaline though. 

“Jo.” He wheezed, arms pulling at the obstruction. Although the woman barely weighed as much as his trademark trident, she was effectively strangling him to death. 

Hating himself, Finnick twisted a kick into her hollow abdomen. The pressure around his neck released as he ripped the cloth out of her hands. 

Johanna scooted towards a corner, furthest from the door and from him. Finnick massaged his throat, his mind oddly focused for the first time in what felt like days. Maybe his therapists and doctors were taking the wrong approach to his recovery. 

Keeping Johanna in his line of sight, Finnick pushed the bed and other pieces of furniture out of her immediate grasp. Dr. Aurelius would be shocked at the sight of the catatonic, sputtering shell of a Victor that sat rocked and knotting rope during sessions was coaxing another crazed survivor off the metaphorical ledge. 

A ledge that for some reason, shoved Finnick into lucidity just minutes before he entered her room. Johanna’s screams propelled him to action. Okay, if he was honest, he was not entirely sure where they were, why she was terrified or how he could help. 

Finnick’s thoughts were interrupted by panicked breathing. Johanna twitched in anticipation of punishment, eyes wide in fear. 

He scanned the room, trying to identify the trigger. Finnick reached for his rope and found his hands dry. Hadn’t he been holding a sponge? 

Oh. Understanding struck him as he located the chunk of material in a pooling puddle of water at Johanna’s toes. Water, the Capitol had tortured her with electrical currents and water. 

“Jo.” He approached her deliberately controlling every muscle in his body. He held his hands in front of him, but continue walking towards her corner. “Let’s clean that up.” 

Johanna blinked at him, her jaw shaking in defiance. How long had she stayed silent, kept District 13’s promises along with The Girl on Fire’s? Johanna’s scalp was caked in dried blood and colored garishly in bruises. 

Squatting on the floor, two arms lengths away Finnick pulled a sheet off the thin mattress. “See? I’m getting rid of the water.” The fabric absorbed the liquid without touching her toes, although Johanna glared at it like a poisonous snake about to strike. 

He waited for a response, any acknowledgement of familiarity. 

Finding none register in her face, Finnick continued to talk, ready to retreat at a moment’s notice if she tried to kill him again. 

They lapsed into silence, Finnick’s mind drifting back in time to a conversation just after the announcement of the 75th Hunger Games. 

***

The phone rang, shocking the household out of their collective stupor. Annie burst into tears, burying herself in Mags’ shoulder. Finnick picked up the phone, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. 

“Fuck them. Fuck this.” Johanna screamed. 

Finnick winced, holding the phone away from his head. “Jo.” 

“Don’t, don’t tell me to calm down, so help me Finn. I will get myself to 4 and personally shove my axe up your ass.” 

“Jo!” He yelled, Mags frowning at him from across the room. She’d lost the ability to speak after a serious stroke, but communicated just as well by expressions and gestures. 

A huff followed by a string of curses gave Finnick an opportunity to speak to the Victor from 7. “Listen, are you going to be at the party for Plutarch this weekend?” He forced himself to maintain an even, nonchalant tone. 

Johanna’s anger radiated through the phone, but the pause in her response relieved Finnick. She had understood his coded message. The phone lines, Capitol-given were certainly being monitored. 

“Well, I’ll need to get in contact with my prep team. Fuck if I have anything ugly enough here to wear.” 

Finnick grinned, a plan piecing itself together in his mind. “Doubtful, seeing how you like to spend most of your time in lumberjack coveralls.” 

“You try climbing a tree half-nude.” Johanna snapped. “Splinters in all kinds of places.” 

He continued, confidence growing. “How about I see if my team and I can fix you up on our way to the Capitol? My gift to you.” He purred, hating himself for using the voice usually reserved for Capitol clients. 

Thankfully, Johanna played along. “Won’t your Capitol lovers be jealous?” The disgust in her voice was imperceptible to the casual eavesdropper. 

“Oh Jo, don’t you know? It’s in my nature.” His chest constricted painfully, his body already aching at the thought of his upcoming weekend in hell. 

“Consider it a date, Odair. Call me with the details.” Johanna ended the call, leaving Finnick to his grief and fear at the announcement of his latest death sentence. 

***

The woman before him barely registered as Johanna Mason. Her body coated in layers of sweat, dirt, blood and unidentifiable substances. 

Finnick understood that no one had been able to touch her, to even treat her wounds since her arrival in District 13. 

Locating a med kit, he knelt on the floor facing her. “Are you going to clean up for dinner?” 

She looked at him, confusion contorting her face. 

“Dinner’s quite the affair here in 13.” He continued, pulling out a pack of potent cleansing wipes. “Only the finest gruel and mush for Victors.” 

A glint recognition flickered across her gaunt features. Johanna leaned over her knobby knees, examining her hands. “Prep-team will be mad at me for these.” She whispered hoarsely, waving her shredded nails in his direction. 

“You could turn those raggedy things into a weapon, like Enobaria.” 

Johanna’s mouth hardened into a thin line. “That bitch.” 

Finnick shrugged, holding out his palm for Johanna’s grimy arm. Privately, he had wondered why Enobaria has chosen to alter her teeth after winning her Games. Could it be a defense, a ruse? Something to make her a less appealing recruit for Snow’s prostitution ring? 

No. He wiped at filth patiently, the edges of a jagged cut revealing themselves slowly. Jo grit her jaw, clenching her fists. Enobaria would still manage to find Capitol perverts into whatever kind of kink her fangs fulfilled. 

“Finn?” 

“Hmm?” He broke the surface of his mind, struggling to focus on the woman before him. 

“You’re drifting.” Johanna said irritably. “Don’t fuck up Odair.” 

He sighed. “Don’t tell me what to do Mason.” 

She flipped him off, pulling a wipe from the container. Following his lead, Jo dabbed at the mixture of dried fluids decorating her body. “What the fuck?” Squinting at her legs, she began to peel a flat rectangular-shaped sticker from her calf muscle. 

Electrode, Finnick’s brain labeled. Shit. He barely had time to protect himself before his fellow Victor began screaming, painful uncensored sounds of torture like the Jabber jays at the last Games. He thought of Annie and lost the last threat of lucidity tethering him to the present. 

Johanna flung the sticky pad across the room, her body knocking into the wall again. “No. No. No. No. No.” She cried, her sharp uneven nails raking over her skin. 

Tension sizzled in the space, Johanna screaming in rage and phantom pain. Her head slammed against the wall repeatedly, a smear of blood blooming like paint on a canvas. Finnick found himself jostled between bodies in grey-green uniforms as he lost sight of Jo. Their bodies engulfed her slight frame, confusing Finnick as past Games blended with his time in District 13. 

Mutts, his brain assumed. Devouring her, ripping at her flesh like they had that boy tribute from District 2 at the cornucopia. His death had been particularly brutal for all the mentors to witness, Cashmere excusing herself to the bathroom where he had pretended not to hear her retching. Johanna had cursed at her table, shouting at Katniss to end his life hours before she finally loosed the arrow. 

Yes. He could make her death quick. She deserved peace. Finnick snapped the leg off of a wooden chair, driving it through the leg of a mutt. Their howl of pain spurred him to seek another opponent.  
Just as Finnick identified his next target, the mutt with its paws around Johanna’s torso, a painful burning stung his neck. 

He slapped at the stretch of skin at his jugular, expecting a tracker jacker or equally heinous insect. Instead, Finnick glanced at the remains of a syringe blurring in his palm. 

The sight of Johanna, unconscious in the arms of District 13 hospital staff swam in and out of focus before his world went black.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovely readers! Poor Finnick, it is interesting to write from a slightly unreliable narrators point of view. I hope everyone is doing well and staying safe.


End file.
